Mystic Marketing

Mystic Marketing Artwork
Why be a modest mystic,
if you can pose as a polished star?

Why sit in stillness with a small circle of seekers
if you can shout sermons to swaying souls afar?

Why offer truths, profound yet plain,
when many yearn for secrets with esoteric strains?

Why admit to ordinary frailties and flaws,
when the world aches for "perfect" ones free of faux pas,

Why permit critical debate,
if it’s simpler to settle for supremacy—
crowned as a custodian of certainty,
above doubt in some "higher" conscious state?

All notions of human "holiness" are honeyed traps:
the power, the praise, and prayerful stares,
lure too many charlatans selling salvation
as if it was a gilded houseware.

Far finer to be an imperfect spirit who seeks
no silver or favor from the mild and the meek.

Yes, it's better to be an ordinary guy
than to spiritually predate and lie.
    In a quaint coffee shop, Bhäraté leaned forward after hearing the previous poem. He folded a napkin carefully, wiping his weary forehead, brows furrowed with thought. "This poem aptly describes how spirituality is often marketed," he saids with omber certainty. "We see this phenomenon of he commercialization of the sacred all too often. So many so-called gurus, lamas, rabbis, or imams start with a flicker of light, only to become spiritual predators, feasting on the very devotion they were meant to guard."

    An-Yi sat perfectly still, her hands cradling a steaming ceramic cup of green tea latte, eyes contemplative as she watched the vapor rise. "Wolves in sheep’s clothing lurk in every profession," she murmured, voice soft yet sharp. "That’s nothing new, yet there’s a unique cruelty here. Spiritual advisors who abuse their authority are particularly pernicious.” Her grip tightened on her cup, knuckles pale against the warm glaze. “They don’t just steal your money or time; they poison the well of faith, rendering it nearly impossible for many to trust any spiritual leaders again."

    Daiki lounged against a cushy floor pillow, his laughter cynically cutting through the air. He raised his glass, wearing a mock-solemn grin. "Yep! I’ll drink to that. Give me an honest sinner over a fake saint any day. At least the sinner’s truth can free us from the facade!"